Chicken Soup for Enjolras
by Phantomess of the Opera
Summary: Poor Enjolras has the flu. Grantaire decides he needs to move in and take care of his friend by making him some of Mama Grantaire's World Famous Chicken Soup. Except, it doesn't exactly work out like Grantaire had hoped.


I don't own these people, probably never will. Oh well. Anyhow this is just a funky little something I wrote my freshman year. Hopefully it isn't too innane. :)  
  
It was a fairly typical afternoon at the Cafe Musain. Joly was trying to convince Jean Provaire and Combeferre that he was deathly ill. Courfeyrac was playing cards with Feuilly and Bahorol, and losing rather badly. Marius was writing love letters, and Grantaire was slumped in a corner with his brandy muttering something about landlords. Enjolras was in another corner poring over some old literature from the Revolution and coughing and sneezing rather badly.  
"Would you please try to quiet your cold, Enjolras? I can't risk getting any sicker than I already am!" Joly said, giving a fake little cough.  
"I think we should just all go home." Jean Provaire suggested as Joly once again started on his tangent about the plauge. "Especially you, Enjolras. You sound terrible! We aren't accomplishing anything anyway...."  
The rest of les Amis nodded in agreement, except for Courfeyrac, who stated with a strong scent of brandy on his breath that he wasn't leaving until he'd won a hand of poker.  
"We aren't here to play cards!" Enjolras coughed again. "We are here to plan a revolution!" He wheezed and gave Courfeyrac a dirty look.  
"We can always play cards later," Feuilly said, trying to smooth feathers, "I think going home would be a good thought."  
Courfeyrac grumbled and took another drink from his glass. Leagle shook Grantaire to wake him up.  
"Huh? What? Get offa me!" Grantaire grumbled as he stumbled to his feet, taking another long swig of alcohol.  
"We're going home Grantaire."  
Grantaire started to groan. "What on earth is wrong with you Grantaire?" Enjolras demanded between sneezes.  
"I was evicted this morning!!!"  
"I told you that you needed to stop going home so drunk." Enjolras hacked and took out a handkerchief to blow his nose.  
"Is there anyone I could stay with for a few days?" Grantaire tried to look sweet and innocent, but it didn't really work. The other Amis began making excuses why he couldn't come home with them. Grantaire then turned pleadingly to Enjolras who was in the process of gathering up his things between sneezes and coughs.  
"No, Grantaire. It's out of the question."  
"Only for a few days Enjolras! Besides you're sick, and someone should take care of you!"  
"You will not set one drunken foot inside my flat!"  
"I make some real good chicken soup! And I'd be really quiet!" Grantaire gave Enjolras an unreasonable facimile of puppy dog eyes. But because Enjolras was feeling poorly, and it was soooo much easier just to let the drunk have the couch than to stand there and argue, Enjolras gave in.  
"You'd better keep quiet." Enjolras muttered and shuffled out the door coughing, with Graintaire in tow. When they arrived at Enjolaras' flat, Enjolras immediately slunk off to bed. Grantaire went into the kitchen to prepare some soup. A short time later Grantaire appeared in Enjolras' room and presented him with the soup.  
"Mama Grantaire's World Famous Chicken Soup! She always gave us a bowl when we had the flu, and it ALWAYS made us feel better." Grantaire smiled and set the soup down for Enjolras.  
"Merci, Grantaire." Enjolras said, bravely taking up the spoon and tasting a mouthful, which he immediately spit out. "What in God's name did you put in this soup??"  
"Bourbon, conyac, ale, and chicken in a wine sauce." Grantaire stated proudly.  
"How can you eat this stuff? It's awful!"  
Grantaire shrugged, "Always made me feel better..."  
"Where did you get the liquor for this? I didn't think I had any." Enjolras asked, confused.  
"You don't. I always carry a few bottles with me....In case of emergency." Grantaire said, very proud of himself.  
Enjolras shook his head and grabbed what he thought was a glass of water to wash the vile taste out of his mouth. This too he spit out. "Whisky?"  
Grantaire again shrugged. "Always made me feel better...."  
"Get out of my room and take your poisoned soup and whiskey with you!" Enjolras shoved the soup at Grantaire who slunk from the room in shame and proceeded to down the soup and whiskey in quick succession. He then stumbled to the couch and passed out wondering what was wrong with the soup, as it tasted perfectly fine to him.  
When he awoke a few hours later, he could hear poor Enjolras coughing terribly, and still being rather soused, he decided he had to take action. He went into the bathroom and took some assorted bottles from Enjolras' medicine cabinet and proceeded to make a new batch of soup for Enjolras. When he had finished he proudly presented the new soup to Enjolras.  
"I am not going to eat your drunkards delight, Grantaire." Enjolras said, about ready to toss Grantaire out of his flat.  
Grantaire looked hurt. "I swear that this soup has no alcohol ino it. I was very careful. I also put some stuff in to make your cold better." Grantaire smiled.  
Enjolras looked at Grantaire and downed a spoonful of the drugged soup. It tasted really horrid, but Grantaire seemed to be trying very hard to help, and there didn't seem to be any alcohol, so he politely swallowed the bowlfull. He then turned rather pale and passed out.  
Grantaire, who was STILL drunk, remembered all the medicine and stuff he'd dumped in the soup and immediately came to the conclusion, "Oh, Sweet Jesus! I've killed him!" He then flew into a panic, noticing that is was almost time for the daily meeting at the Cafe. No matter how sick Enjolras was, he ALWAYS went. If he didn't show up, everyone would know something was wrong.  
Just then Grantaire had a crazy idea. He hoisted Enjolras over his shoulder and went to the street and hailed a cab. When the driver looked at him oddly he said, "He'sh just a weeee bit drunk." And the driver, smelling the liquor on Grantaire's breath, accepted this story.  
Much to Grantaire's relief, they were the first ones to the Cafe. He sat Enjolras at the table, and he immediately fell over. Grantaire paniced. Then, he had another insane idea. He pulled Enjolras over to the corner and propped him up with a broom handle, carefully folding his arms. He decided this would work fine and slunk off into the corner to drink.  
Just then the other Amis began to file in, and noticed Enjolras in the corner. "What's wrong with him?" Feuilly asked.  
Grantaire managed to slur out, "He'sh in veeerrrry deep thought...."  
This was normal enough for Enjolras, so the Amis paid no mind to him, but sat at the table and began to argue about girls and politics over some wine. After about a quarter of an hour of this banter, Enjolras blinked and put his hands to his head, groaning.  
Hearing this, Grantaire stopped counting ceiling tiles (for some reason there were twice as many that day) and looked at Enjolras, as did the others. Grantaire leaped up screaming bloody murder and ran out the door screaming, "The dead live! It's the Apocolypse!"  
The other Amis watched Grantaire run off, then turned to Enjolras for explaination. He just stared at the door. "Grantaire is getting more and more out of it by the day." Combeferre muttered, turning back to the card game at the table.  
"If he keeps it up he'll end up like Marius!" Courfeyrac said dryly, and the group went back to what they were doing, except for Marius who went off pouting to take a walk. 


End file.
